The Prince of Darkness
by TheSuicidalEmo
Summary: This is my first story, so I hope you enjoy :
1. Prolouge

The Prince of Darkness

_The Batman Chronicles_

_Gotham, New York, 1982_

Bruce Wayne sighed desperately, after twenty attempts to receive his father's attention. He was twelve years old; untidy black hair covering most of his forehead, and below that sits two orbs of blue mist, which swarmed around the building curiously. He was tall for his age, which was good because he could always sneak cookies from the fridge, even when his friend Rachel was too short to do so..

Bruce was sitting in a small comfortable chair which was nailed to the floor, as was everyone else's. His father owned the building he was inside, "_The Opera Experience" _was fancy, but Bruce was depressed. He sat up straight, and glanced around the enormous scenery; at both sides, there were large openings where more people could be seen sitting, watching the show down yonder'. In the front, were seven men in tuxedos playing violins and harps, as a large heavyset woman was singing her heart out in front of the microphone.

Bruce was also wearing a tuxedo, a small one, made especially for him, made by his father's tailor. He tugged on the sleeve of his dad's tuxedo, finally getting his attention. "aye' Bruce?" His father had not even looked at him, but merely continued watching the show, with misty eyes and a wide smile across his face. "I'm leaving." Bruce said at last in an exhausted sort of voice as he hopped off of his chair and made his way out of the building. His mother, watching her son exit so suddenly turned to her husband, with confused eyes. "Is Bruce alright?" Again, she turned and looked at the main door close behind her son. She was wearing a sparkly red dress; the bottom had the initials: M.W. scribbled across it. She turned to her husband again, but Bruce's father was already out of his chair, and was walking towards the door, before his wife followed him quietly.

Once outside, Bruce was standing still, watching the cold black clouds circle around the illumination crescent moon. He walked over to the side of the building where he bent down to his knees, he rubbed two of his fingers in the dirt. As he stood up, he studied his fingers suspiciously. Blood was covering his two fingers, but he did not know who or where it came from.

Then Suddenly, the main door opened, and his parents could be seen emerging, sighs escaping their breaths. "Bruce…" His father had said quietly, with a concerned look upon his face. "What's wrong son?" He walked over to his son, and bent down on his knee. Placing his left hand on his shoulder, and looking into his eyes, he said "You can tell me _anything_, Bruce. You know that."

Bruce bit on lip nervously, debating whether or not he should mention anything about the mysterious blood. He didn't have to, because well…

A shout made them all jump. Bruce stepped close to the wall. His parents stood together nervously, watching the cause of the shout. A dirty man, a brown clean suit, messy, greasy black hair, and small brown eyes. He stood in front of them all; his right hand grasping his heart, blood dripping from it. His left hand was in the air, wielding a gun, which was pointed straight at…_them_. His voice was raspy, and made you want to stuff your ears with several pillows. "Well…well…if it isn't, the WAYNE Family!" He limped closer, still pointing the gun at them.

Bruce ran behind his father, crying at this point. His father stared ahead in disbelief.

"Bruce, go hide."

"B-but--"

"NOW!"

Bruce ran past his mother and father and sat down onto the grass, his back to the fence, not even ten feet from his parents.

Bruce's father, noticed this, and turned to his son. "BRUCE, I SAID G--" He stopped short, his mouth wide open, only a little squeak had erupted from it. He moved his right hand to a little spot near his heart, were a small visible hole could be seen; blood leaking down his tuxedo. He fell to the dirt, dead as a pigeon.

The raspy man walked forward, just inches away from Mrs. Wayne. His jaw split into a wide smile and said "Hey Martha, Why…So…serious?" He flicked his hand forward and pulled her in front of her. He placed his arm around her neck, and used his other arm to pull from his pocket, a silver blade. He gently placed the tip at her neck and smiled.

Bruce came from behind the fence and stopped short in front of the murderer. "Bruce, RUN NO--" The man pulled her closer to him with great force. "Shut up bitch, this is my time…_MINE!_"He looked at Bruce with a wicked stare. "Hey kid, do you love your mother…hem…?" He walked backwards, still holding Martha Wayne to his chest.

Bruce darted forward at once.

The murderer laughed manically. "_Wrong choice…Brucy!_!" He twisted Martha's head towards him, and with his correct hand, he stabbed the knife into her neck, and ripped it clean across. He laughed as he did so, leaving Bruce in shock. He dropped her on the cold ground and ran full speed down the alley flailing his arms around, screaming wildly. "_BYE BYE BRUCY! REMEMBER ME_!" Bruce bent down to his knees and knelt over his parent's bodies, crying.


	2. Batman Begins

The Prince of Darkness

_The Batman Chronicles_

_Gotham, New York, 1982_

Bruce Wayne sighed desperately, after twenty attempts to receive his father's attention. He was twelve years old; untidy black hair covering most of his forehead, and below that sits two orbs of blue mist, which swarmed around the building curiously. He was tall for his age, which was good because he could always sneak cookies from the fridge, even when his friend Rachel was too short to do so..

Bruce was sitting in a small comfortable chair which was nailed to the floor, as was everyone else's. His father owned the building he was inside, "_The Opera Experience" _was fancy, but Bruce was depressed. He sat up straight, and glanced around the enormous scenery; at both sides, there were large openings where more people could be seen sitting, watching the show down yonder'. In the front, were seven men in tuxedos playing violins and harps, as a large heavyset woman was singing her heart out in front of the microphone.

Bruce was also wearing a tuxedo, a small one, made especially for him, made by his father's tailor. He tugged on the sleeve of his dad's tuxedo, finally getting his attention. "aye' Bruce?" His father had not even looked at him, but merely continued watching the show, with misty eyes and a wide smile across his face. "I'm leaving." Bruce said at last in an exhausted sort of voice as he hopped off of his chair and made his way out of the building. His mother, watching her son exit so suddenly turned to her husband, with confused eyes. "Is Bruce alright?" Again, she turned and looked at the main door close behind her son. She was wearing a sparkly red dress; the bottom had the initials: M.W. scribbled across it. She turned to her husband again, but Bruce's father was already out of his chair, and was walking towards the door, before his wife followed him quietly.

Once outside, Bruce was standing still, watching the cold black clouds circle around the illumination crescent moon. He walked over to the side of the building where he bent down to his knees, he rubbed two of his fingers in the dirt. As he stood up, he studied his fingers suspiciously. Blood was covering his two fingers, but he did not know who or where it came from.

Then Suddenly, the main door opened, and his parents could be seen emerging, sighs escaping their breaths. "Bruce…" His father had said quietly, with a concerned look upon his face. "What's wrong son?" He walked over to his son, and bent down on his knee. Placing his left hand on his shoulder, and looking into his eyes, he said "You can tell me _anything_, Bruce. You know that."

Bruce bit on lip nervously, debating whether or not he should mention anything about the mysterious blood. He didn't have to, because well…

A shout made them all jump. Bruce stepped close to the wall. His parents stood together nervously, watching the cause of the shout. A dirty man, a brown clean suit, messy, greasy black hair, and small brown eyes. He stood in front of them all; his right hand grasping his heart, blood dripping from it. His left hand was in the air, wielding a gun, which was pointed straight at…_them_. His voice was raspy, and made you want to stuff your ears with several pillows. "Well…well…if it isn't, the WAYNE Family!" He limped closer, still pointing the gun at them.

Bruce ran behind his father, crying at this point. His father stared ahead in disbelief.

"Bruce, go hide."

"B-but--"

"NOW!"

Bruce ran past his mother and father and sat down onto the grass, his back to the fence, not even ten feet from his parents.

Bruce's father, noticed this, and turned to his son. "BRUCE, I SAID G--" He stopped short, his mouth wide open, only a little squeak had erupted from it. He moved his right hand to a little spot near his heart, were a small visible hole could be seen; blood leaking down his tuxedo. He fell to the dirt, dead as a pigeon.

The raspy man walked forward, just inches away from Mrs. Wayne. His jaw split into a wide smile and said "Hey Martha, Why…So…serious?" He flicked his hand forward and pulled her in front of her. He placed his arm around her neck, and used his other arm to pull from his pocket, a silver blade. He gently placed the tip at her neck and smiled.

Bruce came from behind the fence and stopped short in front of the murderer. "Bruce, RUN NO--" The man pulled her closer to him with great force. "Shut up bitch, this is my time…_MINE!_"He looked at Bruce with a wicked stare. "Hey kid, do you love your mother…hem…?" He walked backwards, still holding Martha Wayne to his chest.

Bruce darted forward at once.

The murderer laughed manically. "_Wrong choice…Brucy!_!" He twisted Martha's head towards him, and with his correct hand, he stabbed the knife into her neck, and ripped it clean across. He laughed as he did so, leaving Bruce in shock. He dropped her on the cold ground and ran full speed down the alley flailing his arms around, screaming wildly. "_BYE BYE BRUCY! REMEMBER ME_!" Bruce bent down to his knees and knelt over his parent's bodies, crying.


End file.
